With choice of themes so very small
The task was far from tiring;
There really was no risk at all
Of any joke misfiring.

I found each gibe at army rules
Appreciated fully;
I sparkled when describing mules
As "embryonic bully,"
Or, aided by some hackneyed tune,
Increased my easy laurels
By stringing verses to impugn
The quartermaster's morals.

And so I vowed on my demob.
To shun the retrogression
To any sort of office job;
I'd jest as a profession
And burst upon the world a new
Satirical rebuker,
Acquiring fame and maybe too
A modicum of lucre.

But vain are all my _jeux de mot_,
No lip is loosed in laughter;
I send them to the Press, but no
Acceptance follows after;
And if, as formerly, I try
Satiric themes my gibe'll
Be certain to be hampered by